Alexei’s parents had emigrated from Moscow in the 80s. He understood a few words— da , nyet , babushka —but his Russian was a rusty, broken thing. He felt a strange pang of nostalgia. He double-clicked the file. The video was grainy, shot on a consumer camcorder. The date stamp read: 2003-05-14. The frame showed a modest, book-filled apartment in what looked like St. Petersburg—you could see the pale, watery light of the Neva River through a window.
She paused, listening. Another sound from off-camera. This time, a muffled male voice, angry.
Russian for Absolute Beginners - Inessa Samkova.
He looked at the laptop's case. The owner had said, "I just need the photos of my son." She had no idea what was on the drive. She had probably bought the laptop second-hand, or found it in a thrift store.